And maybe it did.
“We need to know what Mlle. St. Pier has done, and soon, or I fear…”
The words would not come. His mind ran from them like a rabbit from an owl in the waning light, and the words didn’t come.
He had to pray; had to believe for the best.
It was their only hope.
That, and finding out what had caused the problem, and the doctor being able to staunch whatever was happening.
He rushed back toward the music room and found his wife lying flat on the divan, with one of his nieces on either end; her head and feet supported in their little laps. The doctor – a kind old gentleman he’d known for years – was at her side, bent over her, listening to her heart and his face held a frown.
And with that, Gaspar’s heart sank.
Eighteen
Vancouver, Washington… May 10, 2025
Eugenie paced in the waiting room, her nerves taut as wire as she waited for the doctor to come back and deliver the results of Mark’s imaging tests.
Majesta’s eyes followed her around the room, and it took everything within her to not tell her to stop it. Her daughter was probably thinking she should stop pacing, anyway, and if so, they’d be even.
They’d seen him for a moment, and then when he’d gone to sleep, had been asked to step outside to talk with the doctor, who only wanted to inform them they were still trying to figure out what had happened. Three hours later, they were still waiting.
Rose and the Stuart children had come and gone. S. Gillam and Angelique had called five times, and Midge and Me’chelle – along with their kids - were on the way. She was surprised they hadn’t shown up yet.
What could be taking so long, anyway?
She glanced at the large black and white clock – as sterile-looking as the rest of the waiting room – only 3:45. Somehow, she thought it was later than that, and yet, it felt time was going slower than molasses.
What was taking them so long, and where was that doctor? They told her he’d have the results by 3:30, and it was definitely past that now.
As if in answer to her worried mind, she heard Izzie Morrison’s voice echoing down the hallway toward them, followed by Cherish Stuart. The pair rounded the corner, bearing bags of food from Carl’s Jr., followed by the rest of the group with bags from yet two more places: Dairy Queen and Muchas Gracias.
“We aren’t sure what you’d be hungry for, so we decided to stop multiple places. It’ll all get eaten up, I’m sure, with the kids around,” Midge told her with a hint of laughter in her voice as she set down the Dairy Queen bags and Blizzards she held in her hands.
Even still, the woman’s voice wobbled and her hands trembled.
Was it because Justice had gone through the mirror, along with the others, or was she truly concerned for Mark? Eugenie knew they had never been overly fond of one another, though they had tolerated – even gotten better at being there for each other –in the last year and a half or two.
It took until recent events, with Mark’s confession of what he’d done in 2002 that had helped clinch the woman toward his favor.
As she moved toward the bags to see what all they had brought, suddenly, she bolted upright.
She hadn’t let his lawyer know he was in the hospital!
Quickly moving to the couch, she fumbled around for her phone and told it to call Reginald Salvey pronto.
The man had been a godsend after the first three people they had discussed his case with, and she prayed that he would be able to convince the judge, jury, and prosecutor that Mark’s health was not up to par for continuing the trial at this time; that he would need to have time to recuperate in order to mentally and emotionally continue.
“Hello,” she heard Defense Attorney Salvey answer before seeing his face appear on the holoscreen of her Andromeda. “Midge, how can I help you?”
His deep voice matched the velvety smooth appearance of his dark skin, just a hint of Texas twang present in the words.
“I hate to interrupt your workday,” she began, gesturing to the room around her. “As you can see, we’re at the hospital, and it wasn’t exactly planned, so I’m thankful you answered.”
“I repeat, how can I help you,” the man said, his smile softening.
“Mark has had a medical crisis of some kind. A seizure, for sure. We weren’t sure if anything else has occurred, and what kind of damage may have been done,” she told him quietly, her heart beating quickly within her.
Even as she spoke, she could hear footsteps approaching.
“Maybe I can be of service in explaining what happened, or at least try,” she heard a man’s voice saying behind her. She turned quickly to see one of the doctors she had previously spoken with standing four feet away from her.
Casper something.
Mr. Salvey cleared his throat. “Is this something pertinent to bring before the judge, in your opinion, regarding this man’s health,” he asked.
Casper folded his long limbs into the couch, nodding his shaggy blue and blonde hair. “Absolutely, Sir,” he told the lawyer, and then looked to Eugenie. “With Mrs. Jeffries’ permission, of course.”
“Gladly given if it will help things along,” she told him, her heart beating faster again. She sat across from him so that he was facing the attorney, and considered how odd it was to see nothing concrete but hear everything, with the hologram inside out from her direction.
“Our tests show that Mr. Jeffries went through three different seizure stages, moving from a simple partial seizure that, somehow, was multiplied to both sensory and motor, and into a partial seizure with secondary generalizations – in layman’s terms, it caused him to pass out; to lose consciousness. But then it became even more intense, for just a few moments, into a generalized tonic-clonic seizure.”
He paused a few seconds before continuing. “That would be a Grand Mal seizure, in layman’s terms. And since he was admitted, he has had four more simple partials, though they have been contained to the sensory system. We’ve given him medication that should help stop the activity but in the long run, it will take a while for his system to restore itself – if it ever fully does.”
“He is aware of where he is, to some degree, but we aren’t sure if he recognizes who he is or who the people around him are,” he continued, running a hand through his hair. Eugenie could sense the man was nervous but allowed him to continue, though she didn’t really grasp or comprehend what he was saying.
“In some instances, he seems to recognize people, but he isn’t able to say their names or otherwise speak anything other than gibberish. At other times, he looks blankly at – one might even say through – the people around him, as though he were looking at ghosts instead of living people,” the man continued, then finally stopped, setting the chart he’d been reading from down onto his lap. “So all this to say, the man is not competent for courtroom proceedings. I would estimate that – if he ever really is – it will be at least three weeks before we know for sure what will happen with his mental functioning and ability to communicate with the people around him. He has spoken, but he’s the only one who can understand it. A few words have been clear, but none of them making sense for what he might be trying to tell us.”
Eugenie tried to concentrate on what the men were saying, in spite of the other voices around them; her loved ones finding something to eat and a doctor speaking with another patient’s family in the corner.
“And so I tell the judge what,” Mr. Salvey asked, his voice raised in pitch in a way Eugenie had only heard when he was addressing the District Attorney. “He is mentally unfit, or physically, or both? I know nothing about seizures, and unless the judge does, we will need someone to come in to testify to what is happening with him.”
“I would gladly come and speak with the judge myself if all else fails; I could be there on Friday, if that works. I mean, I know that the judge sets the dates, but if nothing else, I could maybe come and make an affidavit statement or somethi
ng, right? It’s my day off,” the man offered. “Casper Ingerboltenhaus at your service, and yes, that really is my last name,” he continued with a little laugh.
“Just let the judge know that Grand Mals can injure a person, and that the other types of seizure… I can explain in more depth when I come and speak with him, if that works for you,” he continued. “Whether you get to in person, or via a written statement.”
A warning bell went off in Eugenie’s mind, causing a shiver to run down her spine.
Was Mark seriously as injured as it sounded? She’d known people to have seizures and seem just fine afterward, but nothing like this!
She tried her best to focus on the rest of the conversation, barely able to follow it.
“The judge is a woman, and we’re going to court in Multnomah County. Will that be a problem for you,” Mr. Salvey asked the doctor, who shrugged.
“I don’t see any problem with that,” he replied quietly.
“Good then, third floor, eight AM on Friday, I will meet you there. Judge Harriet Holdenbach’s courtroom is the last one on the right.”
Casper nodded and stood to walk away. “I’ll be there. you can count on it,” he told the lawyer. “Holdenbach, third floor, eight o’clock Friday,” he repeated.
“See you then, and I hope,” Salvey continued, “that Mrs. Jeffries will be willing to meet us there, as well,” he said before signing off rather abruptly.
“Thank you,” she said quietly once the holoscreen fizzed to nothing once more, and she’d pocketed her phone. “Mr. Ingerbolt-” She stopped herself from continuing. How did he say his name again? And at this point, how was she even still holding conversations that made sense? Her heart and mind were in a whirl, even if she wasn’t too happy with her husband’s past decisions.
“Ingerboltenhaus, and you’re quite welcome. I realize it’s a bit of a mouthful. My parents combined their names, and my father’s parents had done so before them, and though I’ve retained it, it does get a bit,” he paused, quirking his lips to one side a moment in thought, “a bit intimidating. But I kept it because it’s my family, and, hey, it’s a bit of a conversation piece, if I do say so, myself.”
She smiled at him a moment, nodding.
No way to argue with its uniqueness. She’d certainly never heard it before.
“Well, I should let you get back to your meal and family, and get back to my errands,” he said quickly, running a hand through his hair again and making sure his notes were close to his chest before he lumbered away.
Turning back to the Carl’s Jr. bags, her stomach beginning to growl again, she found them empty.
“Saved you a Butterfinger Blizzard and a couple of quesadillas, Mama,” she heard her daughter call to her.
She walked over to where her daughter, Izzie, and Cherish were sitting together on one of the couches and retrieved her food, stepping around their feet so she wouldn’t trip.
The Blizzard was a third of the way melted and running over the edges, and the quesadillas were flatly warm, but it was food. And though it wasn’t the best combination, she was thankful.
She may not want to eat, but she knew if she didn’t, she wouldn’t have the energy she’d need to get through the rest of this.
Nineteen
The Valley of Thrones… The Timeless Now
Edward watched in utter awe as the angels that had escorted he and his loved ones moved toward the thrones before them, around to the front, and lay prostrate on the ground in worship and adoration. With everything in himself, he wanted to join them, and yet, he was frozen to the spot, unable to move until his step-mother, Mary – the woman he’d wanted once to marry – and three of the footmen he recognized from his times in England, moved him forward.
How was it that they were the only familiar faces in this place, aside from those he had seen in his wife’s photographs? The people with Jason and Paloma, and one woman who clung for a few moments to Justice with a baby in her arms, he recognized only because of how often Paloma had drawn her pictures out to look through.
Who was she?
He had seen photos of her, he was sure, but where? He knew Miss Isabella and the Rutherfords from all the times he’d reminisced with Paloma about them and she’d pulled photo albums out, but this woman?
He studied her from the side of his vision a few moments before shrugging.
If he was meant to know, he would, would he not?
Though Mary and the footmen pulled him forward, they didn't quite touch him; there was something inside their hearts that drew him toward the central point where the thrones stood mid-field, and as he drew nearer, more faces became recognizable, though he realized he had never met them personally before this moment.
He saw Mother Teresa, and one of his half-sisters that he’d never really gotten to know too well. He saw three former presidents of the United States, and one from Israel, and another from France. He noted the presence of a handful of other familiar faces, and, most of all, he saw children of all ages and colors. Joy was lighting up their faces, and they were waving to him.
He tried his best to wave back, but still, all he could do was smile as he followed those who had greeted him.
The glow that greeted Edward – a growing glow as he moved closer toward the crowd, and closer to the thrones before him – caused him to turn his face downward to avoid the light directly hitting his eyes, and then, he was on his face, on the other side of the thrones.
And sudden silence ensued.
It was as if all sound had been sucked out of the atmosphere and that everything other than his heartbeat had ceased.
Everything around him; the whole of the universe seemed to pause as he heard nothing but peace in the silence around him. There was no other way to explain it. He could hear peace, and love, and joy, and grace, though there was no sound. He couldn’t even hear his own heartbeat or breath; all was noiseless.
And then, in the midst of the silence, a voice.
Paloma stood stock still, unable to move as all the noise around her turned to silence, and she fell to her knees.
The multicolored grass beneath her was soft; the ground as her knees hit, like a pillow, and while it surprised her, she didn’t have time to think about it.
She was in the presence of the Lord God Almighty, face to face.
Well, face to ground, anyway, she thought, daring to glance at the hems of crystalline white before her where the thrones met together. Each robe melded one into the other, a white whiter than any she could have ever imagined sparkling from them, reminding her of glitter and tinsel and all things shiny and pure.
Around the edge of each was a different colored trim. It was so subtle, had she not been looking down, she would have missed it altogether. Where the throne of the cross was, the hem was a deep blood red, like satin against the cotton-looking fabric of the garment. The hem of the Father’s robe was a beautiful violet, deep and mysterious and luscious. And the hem closest to her, that of the Holy Spirit, was in a pale blue that sent shivers up her spine.
It was the same color as some of her signature pieces at Alabaster & Amethyst back home.
Was she the only one to notice it, or was this shown only to her?
An angel to her left, and an angel to her right took hold of her arms and bid her rise. Arieh and Ari’el were on either side of her, supporting her, though she kept her face toward the ground.
“It is time,” the angel on her right said. “Time to speak with the Father, and the Son, and the Spirit.”
He hesitated a moment. “You do well, keeping your face hidden until the I Am bids you look into His eyes, and be prepared, for He will.”
Paloma sensed the words more than heard them.
Which pair of eyes? If God was three in one, and all together the same being, how could they be separate? And how could they be the same?
“That is a mystery which only He alone can tell you, if He so chooses,” the angel to her left said, his grip tightening on her arm sl
ightly as the pair moved her forward. “But now is not the time when this will take place, for you are still in your flesh. This will take place only once you are free of your body and living fully in your spirit, for God is Spirit and speaks to spirit.”
“So, then, what-”
And then, she heard it; that still, small voice she had known since she was a young child. So familiar; so warm and intimate and wonderful. It took her breath away.
Head still bowed low, she lifted her hands in praise, and the angels retained their hold on her only a moment longer before releasing her to worship. For several moments, she just listened; it was as if her heartbeat had become one with that of the Great I Am, and she had melded into His presence, or rather, He, into hers.
Or perhaps it was both.
She thought about the sayings of Jesus, where He said that if His Word was within a person’s heart, then they were, indeed, in the Father. Was this what that meant?
Images flooded her mind of places she had dreamed of, and of people she had never known. Images from Israel, and from Lebanon and Jordan.
The images tugged at her heart – called to her from deep within – how was it that she could withstand the longings they created? And what was the purpose?
More impressions flittered through her, and she began to sob, her knees once more buckling beneath her in the presence of the One Who Always Is and Was and Will Be, and for many long minutes, she just rested there, on her knees, her head bent to the ground, tears falling into the multicolored grass. And when she opened her eyes, she was shocked to find that the tears were not in the grass at all, though so many had flowed.
Instead, she found the violet hem of a garment whiter than the purest snow, damp. The tears had created a pool in the edge of it, and one of the twin angels had a bottle in his hand. She watched in fascination as he lifted the hem of the Father’s robe and gently coaxed the tears into the bottle.
The Angels' Mirror Pack 2: Books Four through Seven Page 71
